Infinity Blade: Aftermath
by RytheTheRecondite
Summary: With the Worker of Secrets defeated, the realms of Pangea has prospered. But when a mysterious warrior by the title of Iron Hunter appears in their town, two teenagers, Janus and Gene find themselves deep within a world of myths and magic. Now Janus and Gene must seek the help of their family's ancient enemy, and unravel the truth about the father that abandoned them.
1. The Dream

**PART ONE**

 **1 The Dream**

His dreams were always the same.

It was as if his bed time was a movie.

A movie he had seen for more than a thousand times.

A movie Janus, was forced to watch.

There in front of him was the knight, a menacing figure encased in jet black armor. The armor was lined with gold, beautiful curved vine like patterns snaked across the surface. Janus knew it so well he had sketches of it, drawn by himself in his room. It was an armor he had seen more times than he could ever possibly count them.

"My lord, our men are still down there! Their ship had just launched..."

"My orders. Were clear, mortal." Janus knew this voice well. It was the metallic and inhuman voice he had heard more than a thousand times. It was around him. Above him. The voice came from inside him.

"Proceed."

Dust filled his lungs making him cough again and again. Pushing himself up from the ground, Janus looked up. Daylight nearly blinded him. There, high above he saw the silhouette of a man, a dark and vile shadow against the pure glory of the helios. "NOOO!" Shocked, Janus whipped his head around trying to find the source of such a scream. Then, to his horror, he realized it came from him. A shape moved above him, slowly eclipsing the sun. The room around him grew dimmer and dimmer. "NOOOOO!" His voice broke. "Don't leave me here!" Fingers clawed at the hard stone floor. He bit his lips, bitterness filled his mouth.

Anguish was all he knew.

"Janus? Janus!"

He awoke with a start and sat up straight in his bed...Ouch! He had headbutted Genesis right on her forehead. For a moment they massaged their bruised foreheads, dazed.

"Damn...Sorry Gene...I was..."

"I know. I heard you...um, say things in your sleep. Are you alright?"

"Of course I am." He replied, rather accusingly. Then he felt wetness on his cheeks. Suddenly Janus just wanted to pull her close and cry on her shoulder. Gene wouldn't mind...but how could he. Given the fact that he was 2 years older. He was 16, almost a grown up! Now another part of him wanted to punch the girl. He felt angry. Why did she get up to check on him in the first place! If she hadn't done so he wouldn't have been so abashed!

"I'm fine. Thanks for looking out for me." How could he ever get mad at Gene?

Janus watched her return to the bed next to his. All became quiet once more. Then a third part of him wanted to curl up inside the blankets and cry.

So he curled up in his blankets and silently wept.


	2. The Technician

**2 The Technician**

Pushing himself away from the crafting table. Midael sighed. Five hours with no result.

"Argh!" One swipe and the table was cleared of its occupants. He stood up and stretched. "By the name of Galath…" He winced. How could the mortals bear such a body, or should he put it, this shoddy vessel, weighing them down. It was like a flawed instrument. The design was too inferior. Too perfect. And the master behind it all… He shouldn't be thinking about the Worker now. The Worker was gone, defeated by Ausar. No one has heard from him ever since. Some say he went into hiding. Others believe he was still out there…Somewhere.

Grumbling sounds from deep within interrupted his thinking. When was the last time he had eaten? One day. Maybe two days. Even the memories were clouded.

"Pathetic mortals!" Memory loss sucks. Midael punched a few codes and the steel door of his bunker slid open. Cold dessert air smacked him across his face, quickly he put on a sand mask. It was a welcome gift given by the villages of this sector. Sector 33 was just like any sector. Nothing special. Poor. Crowded. Dusty. Established by Raidriar the God King during the Warlord's Dynasty. Midael pressed on against the unforgiving weather, the sound of his footsteps were muffled by the snarling wind. Raidriar had certainly built this sector in the wrong place.

"Grrrrrrrr." And now he had a more pressing matter. He would have breakfast at that pie stand near the market. After all he was a frequent customer. One more visit and he might even get a discount! Who knows? The stand owner, Tor. The lively man in his 40s had befriended Midael the first day he arrived at the sector. Midael on the other hand was always a man of few words.

He was just a random technician. That was all the villagers needed to know. No one asked questions, everyone went about minding their own business. Except…

"Hey Midael! Wait up!"

Then there was Nymph. The 13-year-old pain. She was most certainly Tor's daughter with dark hair and brown eyes. Not only did they resemble in appearance but also shared the relentless volubility.

"What's with that cylinder on your belt？" In a heartbeat Midael's hand shot out with inhuman speed and intercepted Nymph's reaching fingers.

"And a good day to you, too. Young lady." He sighed.

"Is it a scope for watching stars? Is it a secret device?"

"No."

Nymph suddenly jumped up like a little burnt cat. "Ohhh! I know! It's a super high-tech alien weapon, right?"

Impatiently Midael unhooked the cylinder, holding it out for Nymph to see. A tiny lever was carved onto the side, fingers flicked at it eagerly. There was a "click". Nothing happened.

"See? It's nothing!" Clearly disappointed, Nymph plodded along but didn't say another word. She kicked at some pebbles occasionally. This time it was Midael who broke the silence.

"How did you cut yourself?" He motioned to a small cut on her cheek.

"Oh, I got into a fight with some of the boys yesterday." Nymph said flatly. "They tried to take away my book-"

"Did you win?" Midael cut her off, suddenly interested.

"Seriously? Duh? Of course I won!"

"Under the sand mask, Midael's lips twitched slightly. "Serves them right."

"Yeah!" Then, turning serious, "They try to take everything I have! In fact, a week ago…"

"Let me see that book you just mentioned." He said quickly, sparing himself from half an hour of unstoppable chit-chat. A hard-cover book was handed to him, it was quite heavy but he balanced it with one hand. The sun wasn't up yet, making him squint. On the cover was an armored warrior slashing at his enemies…with…two red swords. How peculiar. Above the picture was words written in Pangean. Midael knew it well, he translated:

"Tales of Ryth the Invincible"

Midael stopped right in his tracks, and Nymph bumped into him.

"It's one of my favorite books. My pa gave it to me for my birthday. But you can keep if for a few weeks if you want to."

"This Ryth person…You must really like him."

"Uh-huh. Ryth is my hero. I've got a dozen books about him! Some say it's all myth, but I believe he is real. Do you think he is, Mr. Midael?"

For a moment Midael was out words. Then he smiled.

"I don't know much about this 'Invincible Ryth'…but who knows? If you live long enough you might even meet him one day! Now let's go and find that father of yours, it's been a long time since I've had a decent meal!"


	3. Practice Duel

**3 Practice Duel**

Janus tightened the shield straps for the third time. He stood still for a moment and inhaled deeply. He held the breath for a moment, then exhaled, feeling his muscles expanding with it. "Combatants to your stations!" Automatically Janus moved forward, so did his opponent. Keeping a distance of three meters between them, the two stopped. Given the first chance to look at his opponent Janus found himself gazing into a pair of gray eyes. Surprised, his eyes widened, and he struggled to steady his breathing. Genesis must have recognized him through the visor, too because he felt her gaze soften for a split-second.

Quickly Janus pointed the tip of his blade at the sky, Genesis did the same. The respect was paid. Now he adopted the dueling stance known as the Riptide, shield in the front with his sword arm relaxed at his side, the tip almost touching the ground. Genesis moved opposite him. Janus realized her stance as the Dimachaerus, a rare fighting style developed by ancient gladiators.

To his left Janus saw the other acolytes, even now they were watching Genesis. Like always. A few cheered but he knew it wasn't for him. It was never for him. He shook the thought from his mind and gazed toward the right. On the stand was Master Elmek. Is he expecting Genesis to win, too?

Then he saw Elmek's lips move and he launched himself forward as Elmek gave the engage signal. The acolytes roared, the duel began.

With one leap Genesis disappeared from sight and Janus' brain worked furiously. He had fought her many times.

No doubts. Act.

He spun around feeling his sword arm swing with it. The move was blindingly fast but smooth, like waves sliding over sand. There was a "Clank" as their weapons collided, steel on steel. Genesis was just in time to parry the blow, but Janus' strike was powered. A dagger flew from her hand skidding to a stop on the ground just meters away. She would retreat. Janus didn't think. He knew and he charged to deliver a vertical blow. But this time some of his strength had gone and the blow was parried. The impact forced Genesis backwards and she lost balance. The chance he had been waiting for had come. Suddenly Janus leaped up and turned himself around in mid air, he moved like he never had before. The whole sensation was foreign but strangely familiar. Surprised he felt the focus flowing away and his blade struck air. The moment was lost. Their blades met again. He looked into the visor of his opponent and found her eyes, searching for the slightest clue. She was so close he could almost feel her breathing. His pupils expanded, something came flying toward him and his world turned black.

A knight towered above him, sword in hand. Janus watched in horror as the blade pierced through him, there was a flash of blue…

His eyes snapped open. Genesis was coming towards him. Then a group of acolytes blocked her from view. With a sigh, Janus picked himself up from the ground.

"And it seems the victor is quite obvious." Elmek, too was beaming at Genesis.

"Acolytes! I have an important announcement to make. Genesis. And Janus please come forward."

"Two of our acolytes," he announced slowly. "Have finished their training last week. They are now graduated. Give it up for Genesis and Janus!"

"Well Genesis here…" Elmek went and put an arm around her shoulder. "You have shown great progress and true skills in the past 2 years. In fact,13 years ago when you came into my care, you had nothing…" All the students stopped chatting at once.

"Genesis." Elmek was smiling. He was proud. Janus knew.

"Your father…" Elmek continued, "was a legendary warrior. He and I fought beside each other for many years. He left a great legacy for you! Now I'm sure he would be proud."

Janus stood unmoving. He looked the students coming to surround Genesis, but did not see. Sounds of cheering and laughing echoed in his ears but he did not hear them.

Then he blinked and saw everyone hurrying Genesis towards the dinging hall. And he was already alone.


	4. Gene's Legacy

**4 Gene's Legacy**

Somewhere, a horn sounded. Signaling that dinner was ready. Janus ignored it and kept slashing at the practice golem.

Maybe he wasn't hungry. Maybe he just didn't feel like eating.

"Is everything alright?" Startled, Janus whipped his head around to see master Elmek standing a few steps behind him. He lost concentration. "Swooosh" A wooden fist came swinging towards him and he braced the shield for impact. Using one boot he gave it a solid kick followed by a counter backhand slash, making the golem topple backwards, swinging violently on its hinges.

"Seems like you're giving it a rather hard time." Elmek chuckled. The voice was deep but smooth. Janus felt like it was capable of sounding more powerful and commanding. He could almost picture Elmek, in a set of brilliant armor, a battle axe balanced on his shoulder guard. He would be standing in a chariot, shouting commands while deflecting arrows with his shield. "Show no fear!" He could almost hear Elmek's voice. Sometimes he would picture Elmek fighting a dozen enemies. His axe drawing arcs of blood as he decapitated several men in one blow. It was only fantasies but Elmek was in fact a real war hero. And he was almost certainly born to wield an axe. Being the tallest acolyte in the school Janus barely reached Elmek's shoulders. No one knew Elmek's age, but Janus considered him to be in his forties. Several scars ran across his face, combined with the strong chin and the set of piercing dark eyes Elmek seemed even more prevailing.

Little was known about the past of Elmek. The students looked up to him as a fatherly figure. Indeed, Elmek had a way with young people. He was never harsh but always understanding. Now his shadow loomed over Janus. "You're not holding a grudge with someone, are you?"

Janus aimed a kick at the golem's chest, hitting the kill switch. A wooden fist stopped in midair, dangled dangerously for a moment, then the golem collapsed .Deactivated.

"It's nothing. I'm perfectly fine." He replied. Deep inside Janus wasn't. He couldn't stop thinking about how he had lost the match that morning. He couldn't stop going over the fact that their father…no. He corrected himself. It was Genesis' father, not his. He didn't have a father. It was Genesis' family that found him, miserable him. Without one living soul in the world to count as his family. They took care of him in the first two years of his life. Then they left, but this time he had something. This time he had Genesis, someone he trusted. A single soul to call a friend. But now…that "Great Legacy" Elmek mentioned. He should feel happy for her, and he actually did. Now she had…everything. And he was losing everything.

Janus was the last to arrive at the dining cabin that afternoon. Everyone else had started without him. Janus shut the door behind him. Usually, he would sit next to Genesis, but he turned away when he saw the crowd that gathered around her, so there he stood, craning his neck, trying to find an empty seat.

"Janus! Over here!" Leon, one of the younger boys was waving at him. They cheered as Janus sat down at their table.

"That back-flip power attack you did this morning…It was INSANE!"

"Look. It was nothing. I lost, anyway." He replied, stirring his bowl of porridge with a spoon.

"Listen, bro." Leon said, lowering his voice. "The technique you used belongs to an ancient style called…the origin…or something. It's like…thousands of years old! I've read about it in books." Suddenly serious, he whispered: "You should have seen Master Elmek's face when you-"

"Ghhhh" Janus choked on his porridge. Lifting his head from the bowl, he saw Elmek stand up.

"Boys!" He made his way across the room to where the older acolytes sat.

"Could I please.." Almost laughing now, "borrow Genesis for a moment?" Everyone roared with laughter. A boy sitting next to Genesis, however, laughed rather unwillingly.

"Is it about my dad?" Elmek nodded. "And his legacy?"

"Correct." Replied Elmek. A hush fell over the room. Quickly Janus lowered himself and pretended to eat from his bowl. Which was, by now already empty. Gazing into the reflecting surface he saw a blurry shape getting bigger and bigger.

It was Genesis. She had made a beeline straight for him.

Too late. He felt slender fingers wrap around his arm. All of a sudden he was on his feet, still holding the empty soup bowl. God! the girl WAS strong.

"Then Janus should hear it, too." Genesis turned toward him, "He's family. Right Janus ?"

"Uhhh..." He began, then "Ow" as pain shot up his upper arm. "Yeah..f'course.."

Elmek smiled his knowing smile. "Indeed."

Janus found himself being dragged along again. The air around him turned warm. Somewhere, elegant music was being played. Near the wall a stone fire place crackled merrily. Two sofas were placed facing a large oaken desk. Above the fireplace a shelf displaying antiques hung against the wall. "Wow" Thought Janus, massaging his bruised upper arm.

"Welcome," Elmek said in a dramatic voice, "to my study."


	5. Trouble At Sector 33

**5 Trouble At Sector 33**

As they neared the market, the distant voices grew louder, ever clearer. The two rounded a corner, above them colorful banners flapped wildly in the dessert wind. Suddenly Midael froze. Nymph bumped into him.

"Awww.."

"Shh…Something's off." For a crowd had gathered in the square about 300 hundred meters away. "What's happening?" He felt Nymph tugging at his arm, trying hard to tiptoe to see above the sea of bobbing heads.

Midael slowly inhaled. His shoulders sagged. He waited until every single muscle in his body was relaxed, until his ears became sensitive to the slightest of sounds.

"Someone get help- "Where are the guards?"

He heard running footsteps. A crash as something hit the ground. A muffled cry of an infant. His brows twitched.

"Thud." Then, "Clank."

Something was on the move. Someone, with a set of full armor.

"Heeee-whew" And that someone was wearing a helmet. A helmet with a visor. More like a mask.

"What is it?" Nymph poked at him impatiently.

"A deathless." He replied with no hints of emotion.

She gasped. "Is it evil?"

"I don't know." He said, but his mind was already drifting away. "Guess we'll have to find out."

"What a disappointment…"

Midael heard the voice and Nymph said: "There!"

Standing in the middle of the square was the deathless. Midael took note of the mask first. A T-shaped visor darkened with black steel hid the face completely. The helm itself was silver colored. Sharp horns protruded above the visor, making it look more like a crown rather than a helmet.

"I was expecting something better…turns out I was wrong. Just another puny village after all…" The deathless pointed towards a silver plated warrior. Midael had already noticed them. Seven knights formed a circle around the deathless. Minions.

"My men…" The deathless continued, "will collect….whatever you have…" He looked down at a figure laying sprawled on the ground. "You villagers, of course...will have to die." A sword appeared out of nowhere. The teleportation ring, Midael knew.

"Oh shoot he's gonna kill him! You've got to do something!" Nymph gasped, unable to tear herself away from the dreadful scene.

Midael almost laughed at the thought.

"What makes you think I could help?"

The blade flashed. It swung downwards, gaining velocity as it flew towards the poor man's spine. Too late.

"Clank" It was Tor, holding a longsword he somehow managed to counter the blow. The deathless gaped in disbelief, but soon recovered and began to drive Tor backwards. Midael watched silently. Tor was swinging his blade, parrying blow after blow. His enemy pressed onwards. It was obvious, then. Midael saw the beads of concentration gather on Tor's forehead. He had noticed Tor's flaw the moment he began to duel. Tor would soon be slain. It wasn't even a matter of time.

Tor swung his blade desperately. He missed.

A flash. A gasp. A final "Thud" as the town baker crumpled to the ground.

He didn't even stand a chance. Thought Midael.

"DAD!" The scream escaped Nymph. Midael watched her go. He didn't try to stop her.

He watched as Nymph darted towards her dying father, tearing through the crowd as she went. Midael watched. Almost amused.

She would soon die. Or worse. It was only a matter of time. Something stirred inside him. Instinctively he shouted:"Nymph! Come back!"

There was a "Thud" as Midael's head exploded with pain. Spots danced wildly in front of his eyes. For a split-second he forgot where he was. Someone had driven the hilt of a sword right into his sand mask.

"Argh..." He was so busy shouting at Nymph that he had forgotten about the minions. One of the minions grabbed him by the neck and shoved him forward. He fell on to his knees. Midael looked up, grimacing as his head throbbed painfully. He blinked for a few times, then found himself face to face with the silver masked deathless.


	6. Deviation The First

**6 Deviation The First**

The sun was setting.

Two figures stood with their backs to the sun, their shadows seemed to stretch in front of them, the forms were long and slim. Both were men.

The smaller man bent over to fasten a saddlebag to the horse which his master was riding on. He was a leash man, in his fifty's. His pale skin and weather-beaten features were the signs of working over disk after disk and document after document. Taller in his younger days, he was energetic and loyal to work for his leash and also silver'tongued when it came to laws and politics. Years have passed and he remained to be the most trusted and respected counselor, also a close and likely the only, friend to his master.

For a while the master and servant stood without speaking, it was the master that broke the silence.

"You know, I have to do it. No one else will."

Young, muscular and well-built, he towered over the smaller man, making no move to get off his grey battle horse while the leash man's own ride was grazing the grass and roots twenty or so meters from them. A respectful distance away. He was surprisingly young, nearly three decades younger than his servant. His right arm, or what remained of it, ended in a severed stump, wrapped carefully in bloodied bandages. No mortal man could walk let alone ride with such a wound, however the young warrior held the sword with his only hand and carried it on his shoulders. He sat in the saddle with perfect balance.

The horses sensed them before their masters did. The battle horse's ears twitched and it let out a nervous whinny. Unable to free one arm to pat and comfort the distressed horse, the rider quickly murmured comforting words to calm it.

"Steady boy, steady...what's the matter?"

Then he saw them.

He saw the dark shapes on the horizon before he heard the low humming of the engines.

Shadows passed over them.

Aircrafts, heavily armed. Flying in tight formation, prepared to leave a path of flames and destruction.

"Damn...it's the Ares Troopers!" Eves cursed under his breath.

Raidriar nodded silently. He had no more time to spare.

"I'll be going." He said flatly. Looking towards the direction where the aircrafts came from.

"I should make haste while the trail is still warm."

Neither of the two made a move to go.

"Eves. I know what I'm doing."

"..."

"I will be back before Larioth notices I'm gone."

Raidriar doubted his own words the moment he said them.

Clouds gathered and Raidriar gently shook the reins. He's form faded into the darkness of the night.

The trail was dark and Raidriar felt around the saddle bag for a glow rain was already falling. Then his hand touched something soft, and warm. He took it out and looked closely in the pale moonlight.

It smelled like heaven itself.

Suddenly realizing how hungry he really was. Raidriar bit down into the beef sandwich, there was something in his throat and he had trouble swallowing it down.

Rain beat mercilessly against his face and chest. It ran down his cheeks and dripped down his chin.

The rain. Tasted like salt.


	7. In The Study of Master Elmek

**7 In The Study of Master Elmek**

The following hour seemed to go by in a blur, Janus found himself unable to focus. His gaze drifted from here to there, sometimes skimming the titles of various books, and sometimes on the scared face of Elmek. He couldn't tear himself from it. Something about that face bugged him, like a deja-vu...Of course Elmek had always been like a father to them, but a part of him knew that he was more than that. He strained his head to remember but achieved nothing.

He sighed, turned, there they were, Elmek's dual swords gleamed back at him. Janus roughly remembered trying to wield one when he was young, his legs buckling under the weight. He had always admired the weapon, there was more to it. Three circle-shaped cut-outs lined directly at the center of the blade, which, when held under the sun, reflected a brilliant color of gold. But it was always the three circles that fasinated him. They were the symbol of Strenth, balance, and power. He didn't know why he knew but only the fact that he knew.

It was then, he heard the laughter. He turned to see Genesis, standing just a few feets away. Something stirred inside him. "Look at your...arms, Jan!" She had said. Suddenly he was aware.

Make her pay.

Arms trembling he stared transfixed at Genesis. His friend. Even when she was being cruel, she was beautiful. Now it hurt him even more.

His friend.

She betrayed you. How dare.

The voice came unconsciously, from somewhere deep down inside him. Stern, commanding, almost emotionless.

He started with his eyes, unblinking. He saw a face he did not recognize.

Her lips were moving, but the words came to him seconds later. "Jan, I'm sorry...Jan!"

He had shuddered, Genesis didn't step forward like she usually did. The smile was gone from her face and she looked hurt.

To his relief, they spoke no more of the incident afterwards, and Genesis remained his friend. Now he focused on a scar on the back of Gene's hand, anything to efface the memory from his mind. She had very long and slender fingers. He thought to himself. He loved her fingers, he decided. If only he could-

"Janus, are you even listening to this?" Startled, he sat up with a"Huh?" Now Elmek also turned to look at him.

"Huh-f course!" He said, stammering. His face burned.

"Where were we...Ah, so his influence grew, warlords and kings alike would swarm to him for protection-"

"Is that when you met him...I mean, my father?" Asked Genesis.

Elmek nodded. "I fought under him for many years, he conquered realm after realm, until he became more than a man." He paused.

"He was a god."

There was silence. "Then what happened?" Genesis asked, rather impatiently.

"I fought for him until the great purge." Elmek continued. "Power corrupts the good man, when he found the blade, darkness and corruption came with it. Day by day I sensed the evil in him grow. I couldn't hide my thoughts from him and he was beginning to question my loyalty. On the night of the purge, I snuck into the nursery and escaped with you. That was how you came under my care."

"Was he...was he a deathless?" Janus asked.

Elmek's face turned grave. Suddenly he seemed older, and more weary.

"Yes." He nodded again. "A deathless and a tyrant. He started the purge to slaughter his realatives."

"Thank you, master Elmek." Genesis stood up to go. Elmek smiled, when they were at the door, Genesis turned.

"Master Elmek."

"Yes?"

"If my father was a deathless...Would that make me a deathless, too?"

"That is correct, indeed." Then he added, "It's getting late, and there's much to take in. Sleep on it, goodnight."

Outside the moon had already risen. Together the two walked towards their cabin. They kept silent.


	8. Daughter of The Deathless

**8 Daughter of The Deathless**

Since he could remember, Genesis had always been better in some way or another. She outrun him during field training. She beat him at dueling. The other acolytes all admired her. But of course, he should have known after so long!

A deathless!

For some while Janus lay on his bed turning the same thought over in his mind. NO sleep came to him. He rolled on to his back and grunted when he felt no comfort, the more he fidgeted the more awake he became. Slowly he pushed himself upwards, there was no headboard on his bed so he leaned against the stone wall, instead.

"No sleep?" Asked Genesis in her casual, friendly tone. She had her back to him and was looking into the small mirror on the wall. He noticed that his corner of the cabin was visible from there.

Shaking his head in reply, his gaze wandered aimlessly. The cabin was small, and it didn't have much room to hold anything else than a chest, two beds and a sink. The two beds belonged to Janus and Genesis. They ran parallel with about 2 meters between them. There were fresh wild flowers in a goblet by the window. He wondered if Genesis had picked them. The goblet itself looked ancient and a bit out of shape, if one looked closely enough he or she would nearly be able to make out a dim eagle symbol.

Usually Janus didn't bother with the random objects in the cabin, Elmek had placed them there. Except when he was really bored. Once he discovered that if he looked at the goblet at a certain angle some words, so small that they were nearly indistinguishable, can be seen. "Jensen. Drem's Maw" it read. I've been to Drem's Maw! He saw in his mind's eye, tunnels and caverns, huge chains dangled from rock walls and the rock ceiling above him.

But no. He finally decided, for he had never actually been to Drem's Maw. Strictly saying, he wasn't even sure if Drem's Maw was the name of a place. And if there was one thing that Janus was truly good at, it was to imagine, designing all kinds of gadgets in his brain. He didn't really enjoy fighting, either. The Aegis was indeed, an art but the power to overwhelm someone in combat was insignificant next to the power of prediction. The skill of synchronizing with the opponent, of seeing his next move in action before the latter was even aware.

This skill Janus had secretly taught himself. This skill he used against all the acolytes and they were no match. But there was one exception. He couldn't out match Genesis. It didn't make sense. The pattern she used, the Dimachaerus, he knew it well. In fact he knew her every move, her every dodge and every sidestep. Janus would watch her as she trained, from afar. He moved with her, feeling every contraction of the muscle and timing each intake of breath…

But now he knew why. The answer had always been there. Now that he knew, it seemed simply pathetically obvious.

She was superior. She was deathless.

A Deathless. He corrected himself, for being a deathless was being a god. An immortal could have infinite life but could still be destroyed. But the Deathless were eternal. They are indestructible, therefore, the word should be used as a noun, not an adjective. This Janus reasoned with vague dissatisfaction.

He turned to see Genesis still gazing into the mirror. "So, how do you feel…" He muttered and tasted the bitterness in his own voice. The girl's reflection tilted her head to look at him. With her chest plate off and hanging on a wooden peg she wore a white shirt which was slightly oversized. Her dirty-blonde curls now cascaded down in a casual way without the hairband. Genesis looked about eighty percent ready for bed.

"Feel about what?"

"About being a…You know!"

"Well it wouldn't change much. Would it?"

"Wouldn't change much?" Janus half echoed.

It could change everything. He thought.


	9. I am Ryth

**9 I am Ryth**

He took notice of his surroundings first. About ten steps to his left lay the crumpled form of Tor, the town baker. Nymph was there, too. Head still throbbing Midael could hear nothing but the deafening beat of his own bloodstream. A trickle was running down the side of his face, and it felt rather warm to the touch.

The crowd had quickly dispersed, just as their baker fell. He suddenly realized in disgust. They were cowards, like vermin scrabbling in the dust. His vision cleared, Nymph was still kneeling beside Tor, shaking him. Still Tor did not move, and Midael had a feeling he won't, not again for a very long time.

Then the deathless kicked him in the ribs.

Now Midael had been kicked before, but never in a an almost 50-year-old body and by a hulk of a man over 2 meters tall and wearing spiked armored boots.

The impact sent him sprawling. He gasped for air, the sharp pain made his vision double, the sensation was like someone had pushed a blade through his chest. Nausia swept over him and he curled up instinctively. In this awkward position he saw that there were Daerils as well, creatures half man half beast, their bodies inhumanly muscular with purple veins running beneath the deep violet skin, the helmets did little to conceal the hideous and fanged beast head. Above the gaping mouth was the nostrils of a snake. And the eyes, were a lifeless white color but none the less they were cruel and unrelenting. Everything about Daerils were beast like but with his experience, Midael knew that they were worse than any beast.

"What do we have here?" Above him a voice sneered. It was the deathless, now he crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"You...You'll pay for what you,ve done!" Surprisingly it was Nymph that spoke, but she did sound so sure, for her voice was breaking. Then out the corner of his eye he saw the girl leap at the deathless, a minion grabbed her and held her down.

The Deathless chuckled. "Leave her to the Daerils, Malory!" It was a cruel and metallic laugh. Midael was disgusted. "We shall deal with the newcomer first."

He felt it before he saw it coming. An upper cut aimed straight for his chin. He rolled onto his back and sprang to his feet.

"I know much about beings like you." Midael said through gritted tenth. He winced with every breath.

"I AM A GOD!" His enemy spat."THE IMMORTAL RULER OVER YOU AL-"

"A rogue." Midael interrupted.

For a moment his enemy stood unmoving. Only for one split-second but it was enough for no one but Midael could sense the surprise under the expressionless fullface visor.

"A scholar mortal, then!" The word "mortal" was spoken with such venom that his helmet produced a sound like the scraping of metal against metal.

"Guards! Of with his mask!" He added with distaste.

The air around Midael froze. The market banners, the grey sand swept up by the dessert wind, and the two steel clad minions that were closing in on him, everything moved in slow motion . His brain was working furiously. He inhaled. A hand reached for him and he moved ever so slightly, letting it brush against him as he side stepped. In a heartbeat Midael drew the sword of his opponent, seconds later the latter was on the ground, clutching at his arm, or, strictly saying, what remained of his arm. The second warrior, whose name was Malory if he remembered correctly, wasn't so lucky. He fell face first with his own blade sticking through his chest.

Midael dislodged the blade from his dead opponent. No time to revel in his victory, the deathless was already on to him, the axe swooped down, straight for his ankles. Midael spun as he leaped forward, focusing his strength until it gathered at the tip of his boot. "Crack" The deathless fell backwards, shards of his beautiful helm flew in all directions. The force was enough to break the neck of any man, though this was no ordinary man, the blow to his helmet still left him disoriented. "Halt!" He shouted frantically. Midael's sword was only inches away from his throat.

"You did't let me finish earlier. You are a rogue." Midael repeated. "You were granted immortal life. But it didn't make you deathless. Oh no." He paused, letting his words sink in.

"Please. Spare me..."

"Oh I think not." Midael bent down until he was speaking directly into his opponent's ear. "For you had sealed your fate the moment you laid hands on that girl. But be honored, for in the last moments of your life you were defeated by a blademaster. Consider it a privilege."

The Daerils backed off as their master fell. One of them released Nymph. There was no need for Midael to tell them to scram.

Slowly he limped until he was standing over Tor's fallen body. "Your father perished protecting the town. Weep but remember and be always proud that he was your father." He said awkwardly and decided that he was truly horrible at consoling others.

He looked around helplessly, then he saw Nymph's book "Tales of Ryth the Invincible" Laying in the dust. Holding it in one hand he brushed aside the sand with the other, leaving a smear of blood. He turned to the first page, with his bloodied index finger he wrote:

I am Ryth.

He gazed at it for a while, admiring his own work. "Hey..." Finally, he held out the book to her. "You dropped this."

He waited awkwardly. "But...but you're...old..." Said Nymph, between sobs. He sighed and did something he haven't done for a long time. Slowly he took off his helmet and wiped the blood from his face. Then from one pocket he took out his glasses and put them on, only to discover that one piece had been completely destroyed during combat.

"Sorry to disappoint you." He said, feeling helpless as ever.


	10. The Antique Dealer

**10 The Antique Dealer**

"Keep your filthy hands to yourself!" The rough voice came as a surprise to Genesis. A bit taken aback she quickly dropped the ring which she had been fondling, faintly recalling seeing a handwritten "Hands off" sign on her way in. Usually she would stick to the rules, but today was an exception. Firstly, she had been distracted by the fact that Jan's birthday was coming. Secondly, she had a habit of caressing objects. It was one of these things that she often did unconsciously. Thirdly, she had never been this deep into town before.

She had gotten used to running errands like visiting the local ironsmith, baker and so on. The smithy she tolerated. The ironsmith was a man of few words, and usually answers with nothing more than a huh or a grunt. The bakery she quite enjoyed, where she had been just a few minutes ago, where warmth radiated from furnaces that almost reached the height of her chin. And the baker's apprentice, Ren, a boy of nineteen, would always sneak a new cooked loaf from a furnace for her when his master wasn't looking. The bread he wrapped with one hand and the other loaves on display, which were already cooling and hardening in the afternoon breeze, he quickly rearranged with the other. This clumsy effort to mess with the old baker was either successfully unnoticed, or the baker did notice but didn't say anything about it. Then, Ren would beam at her with one of those smiles, a little mischievously but cute all the same. "Careful. It's hot." He would always say as he handed her the wrapped loaf, making sure to brush his fingers against her hand as he did so. Earlier today, Genesis had gone to the bakery only to find it vacant of the apprentice boy. To her surprise, she actually felt a twinge of disappointment. Now as she dropped the ring and turned to look at the thin, pale man that was the antique dealer, the guy that had told her to 'keep her filthy hands off', She decided that she didn't like the antique dealer.

The antique dealer sat in the corner of the small shop, hidden under a dark cloak of fine fabric. A hood was drawn over his head, casting a shadow that fell across half of his face hiding the eyes and the nose. Only his mouth showed, dark red lips drawn together in a tight line. Now as Genesis walked closer she was aware that the outline of his form was shimmering, it was like looking through a transparent veil of water, so thin that anyone would fail to notice. But Genesis did with her observing eyes, and there it was, again. Shimmer…

The antique dealer had placed himself behind a protective force field.

"State your business, girl." He said, and she was about to reply when she saw the armor move.

They were not alone in the shop. Standing beside the display of old looking bracers and shields, was an even more ancient looking warrior. Apparently he had been standing so still that Genesis had mistaken him for a set of armor. Now the helm turned to look at her, a V-shaped visor gave no hint of the face that was beneath it. The armor was forged from iron, under the light from a dim lantern it only glinted dully. Even so, she knew this was a forged by some experienced craftsmen. Maybe it was of a time long forgotten. It was bulky with large shoulder guards and a single piece chest plate. Genesis had never before seen something like it. The sight made her nervous.

"I…I came to make a trade." She tried to sound as calm as possible. There's no reason to be jumpy. The stranger could just be a random customer, who had nothing to do with the antique dealer. She reassured herself. But she would be on her guard.

"A trade…you say. I see that you came alone. Hmmm…" Wrapping his boney fingers together, the antique dealer leaned back against his chair. "This part of town isn't very friendly for a young girl like you." He continued, "Your parents should've known better…"

"I have no parents." She cut him off. "You'll make the trade with me. That ring, I want it." Something in the girl's voice made the antique dealer feel cold under the skin, but if he was startled he didn't show it. "Well, then I'll have to see the colors of your money first." He said in a soothing and business like tone. "I have no money that I can spare." Genesis said, suddenly losing the little authority that was in her voice just a moment before. She unsheathed her bone knife. Hand crafted, it was only 7 inches long and rough around the edges, despite her best efforts. This she choose not to inform the antique dealer.

"It's the fang of a Lupun," She said, handing over the knife hilt first. The antique dealer leaned forward, took the hilt from her and twirled the knife with experienced fingers. With disappointment the knife was pushed back towards her. "That simply…will not do I'm afraid." His eyes glinted. She could see them now, dark and moist. "A bone blade, roughly made and unbalanced…Lupun fang if you insist." He almost snorted. "Now the ring, on the other hand. Shaped with titanium, forged in the very flames of the ancient land of dragons long lost to mankind. They say even the Deathless lord Vulcan once wore it on his finger. It is a relic capable of harnessing mythical powers, it's…invaluable…priceless!" His voice rose, boney fingers gestured in the air. "But if you are willing to pay the price…" Sadly, Genesis reached for her bone knife. She knew it was hopeless, and even if what the antique dealer had said about the ring was true, which she highly doubted, she had nothing else on her that she could willingly give. She stood for a moment, looking at herself up and down. An oversized shirt which used to be her father's. Oversized shorts held tightly against her waist with a cheap leather belt. An oversized combat glove. She knew gloves were supposed to come in pairs but she had scavenged it so there was only one.

Oversized and cheap and out of place. "Everything about me is down to those five words." She thought. Oversized. Cheap. Out of place. The fact of being a deathless came to her mind. Yesterday, when Janus had asked her how she felt…was it bitterness she heard in his voice?

"Sorry for taking up your time." She said rather apologetically. Her hand was already halfway through the force field, reaching for her knife when the antique dealer's bony fingers shot out and before she knew it they were wrapped tightly around her wrist.


	11. The Iron Hunter

**PART TWO**

 **1 The Iron Hunter**

If there was something else the robe of the antique dealer concealed other than his hawk like features, it was definitely his strength. Now as his arms came into view, Genesis realized that the old man wasn't so withered and boney after all. "I'm sorry for taking up your time." She repeated. But the grip on her wrist neither strengthened nor loosened. "On the second thought, I believe we can still come to an agreement. You get the ring, and I get what I want." He was using that smooth, reassuring voice again. But there was a gleam in his eyes that Genesis didn't like. "It'll be a win win." He continued, making her gulp. She turned, frantically, but the stranger was nowhere to be seen.

"Never let them see your fear." Elmek's voice echoed in her head. She stood as rigid as she could, heart pounding but her breathing controlled and even. Shifting her one free arm slightly so that her hand was out of his field of vision, she brushed the tip of her thumb against Tidal Wave, a ring of only inferior power. Heat was beginning to radiate from it. It was ready, ready to blast the antique dealer with, if not very strong, a distracting current of water.

So was she.

"Girls shouldn't play around with something like this." She watched as the antique dealer loosened the straps of her wrist guard. "You want this?" Asked Genesis, relief swept over her. She relaxed a little. "I don't understand," She let him slip off her wrist guard. "It's just a plain piece of metal. Nothing more."

"Take it, or leave it." The antique dealer was leaning back in his chair again.

Just give him the damn piece of metal and be out of this place. Her instincts were telling her to leave. Her experience with this dark alley were limited, and she didn't like the environment here.

It was a summer day, three years ago. "Where's your bracer?" Asked 13-year-old Janus. "I donno!" She replied, 11 at that time. She remembered Jan taking off his own and shoving it into her hands. "Take mine." He had said, running off before she could protest. And she remembered doing archery, remembered seeing Jan do archery, the bowstring slamming like a whip against the bare skin of his arm. She remembered seeing Jan go to bed that night, his left arm outside the covers and it was crisscrossed with red colored welts.

It wasn't that summer day three years ago, but this moment as Genesis stood inside a dimly lit antique shop in that dark and narrow alleyway, and she made her decision.

"I'm sorry. No." However, the antique dealer made no move to give her back the bracer, a twinge of doubt crossed her mind. Maybe he wasn't planning on giving it back. "I'm sorry," She tried again, "It means much to me, I can't trade with you."

"Take it. Or leave." The eyes of the antique dealer narrowed.

"Give it back." Genesis didn't know where the wit had come from, but something in her had snapped and she wanted her bracer back. "You play with my patience, girl!" A curved blade slipped out from the antique dealer's long sleeve and already it was slashing in a deadly arc. Genesis jumped back as though she had been bitten. The right sleeve of her shirt was cut open, and red was beginning to spread. Instinctively, her left hand went up to shield her wounded shoulder. She winced.

The stranger watched all this wordlessly. "To hell with the trade!" The antique dealer growled, reaching for the girl, and the stranger raised his weapon. "I'd be getting a good price out off just you yourself!" It was the antique dealer's last argument on the matter.

Light flashed in the dimly lit store and then there was the deafening crack. The antique dealer was launched backwards as by an invisible force against the cobblestone wall, spraying pieces of broken skull and its watery contents everywhere. The antique dealer's body collapsed onto his chair, headless.

Genesis stood wiping brain off her face, dazed. It was the armored stranger, and he was clipping a weapon that she had never seen before onto a buckle on his belt. It looked like a crossbow but with the bow piece removed, and she could see no bolts. He threw something at her, it was the ring. Before Genesis could say anything, he bowed. In contract to the ancient gear he wore, his voice was young.

"I am Blithe de Florian the Iron Hunter of House de Florian. Descendant of Torren de Florian and wielder of Torren's legacy." Then he added:"Sorry about the mess."


	12. The Argo IV

**2 The Argo IV**

Ryth walked with his hands stuffed deep inside the pockets of his trench coat. He walked wordlessly, the people of sector 33 knew better than to ask questions. Doors slammed shut and curtains were drawn tightly as he passed. His boots left footprints in the sand. They were of a dark red color. It wasn't his blood, but a mixture of daeril and human and lesser Deathless. In the fifteen seconds, four had fallen, two humans, one daeril and the lesser Deathless. Before his eyes, the fallen were rising from the ground, as if levitated by an invisible force. The fight was rewinding before him, here comes the first, twenty-one possibilities lay out before him. Down he goes, here comes the second, forty-five ways to end him. Strangely, he vaguely recalled slaying the daeril, so he decided it had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. But he was working for the lesser Deathless, anyway, so down it went.

A hundred and eleven outcomes in total, he concluded. Outcomes with Ryth victorious, a hundred and ten. Outcome where Ryth falls, one.

Unacceptable. At once his mind was in full gear, the first warrior was upon him, he sidesteps and draws the sword, instead of bringing it down on the unprotected part of the warrior's wrist he spins the sword in a horizontal arc, it flies through the air like a boomerang. It would decapitate the daeril which held Nymph and she would be free. Without the sword and with the first opponent still standing, he would be unable to combo the second, leaving him surrounded by three attackers. The moment would be gone. He saw himself fall with a fatal cut to the spine.

He turned left and continued down Ranger's Alleyway. Ranger's Alleyway had nothing to do with Rangers, just like the random names of the other alleyways of Sector 33. As he strode down the familiar alleyway that would take him back to his bunker, civillians shrank back before him. Kids peeked at him from behind the shelter of their mothers' aprons. They looked at the visor of his full face sand mask with the expression of a child that was looking at some creature that was alien. Meanwhile the adults kept their heads down. To them he was indeed something alien, something to be feared.

His notepad, the datapod along with six folded blueprints for an enhanced Solar-trans blade was stuffed into the metal enhanced backpack. The Solar-trans OX dual blades, uncharged though, he clipped to his belt. He would charge them when he got to the Argo IV, his personal aircraft.

He heard soft footfalls on the ground outside. The metal doors slid open. Ryth didn't look up.

"You're leaving." said Nymph. She had prodded herself up and was sitting on the crafting table, her slender legs dangling off the edge. Ryth went to the crafting table, kicking the things he had scattered around it into a pile along with some other things he couldn't carry. The pile he incinerated with a wave of his hand.

"I can't stay. Not now that they know I'm Deathless." He slung the backpack onto his shoulders and walked to the bunker door.

"But you aren't like them, are you?" asked Nymph.

This Ryth choose not to answer, he looked at Nymph, her eyes and cheeks were a little swollen from crying. Jet black hair ran down her shoulders, they were chest-long and ended in small ringlets.

"A few miles in to the west there's an abandoned mineshaft. It leads to an open pit. My aircraft awaits me there." he paused, then added: "My aircraft runs on solar energy, I expect it to be fully charged and ready for departure in two hours."

He walked out the door.

It took him thirty minutes to reach the entrance of Mineshaft No.9, abandoned years back when two miners were unaccounted for after a mining session. Inhuman noises were reported afterwards and no one dared venture here anymore. It was the perfect place to hide the Argo IV. Ryth walked onwards into the darkness, feeling and following the rail with his feet as he went. After a while, he saw something metallic, reflecting sunlight up ahead. The Argo IV, just as he had left it here many moons ago. He walked up the ramp, breathing in the familiar scent of steel and mechanisms. He went into the cockpit, pushed a lever and a panel concealed in the cabin floor slid back revealing the Aegis Armor Theta version. Ryth gazed at it for a moment. The polished helmet gazed back at him. He smiled a little, satisfied that it had been untouched. Then, he slid off the heavy trench coat, unbuckled his combat boots. These, along with his plain shirt and pants he put into the now empty compartment. Half naked, he stepped into the armor, it clicked welcomingly into place. At last, he put on the helmet.

Hssssssss…

Fresh, filtered air rushed into his lungs as he inhaled. Microneedles injected something cool into his veins and he felt his adrenaline surging. With a sigh, Ryth sat down on the cushioned pilot seat. A panel lit up. "Low power" It blinked. "Recharge." Said Ryth, and the command was accessed.

He exited the aircraft and sat down on the ramp. Now he would wait.

An hour went by. He heard the footsteps before she came into view, and saw her before she noticed him. There was Nymph, coming out of the railway tunnel. Her dressed was gone. In its place were a T-shirt and a pair of faded jeans. She also wore a leather vest with pockets outside the T-shirt, and her chest-long hair was now tied back in a ponytail. She was here, and she had been scared, he could see. Relieved when she saw the sunlight, she had stopped dead in her tracks when she saw him, fully armored, the Deathless Blademaster.

"You're early." Ryth said, his voice was metallic and deep. "Good." He added. The Argo IV was seventy percent charged, but it'll charge itself during flight. He walked into the cockpit and sat down. His finger hovered over the ignition switch. Then, he realized that the girl hadn't moved.

"Are you coming or not?" He asked over his shoulder, and she came up the ramp, dumped her backpack on the floor and sat down in the copilot seat next to him. She gazed at him, nervously. Ryth gave her the best reassuring smile he could manage, but realized with stupidity that he was wearing the helmet and there was no way Nymph could see it. To his surprise, the girl smiled back at him, and he noticed she was remarkably pretty when she did so.

The Argo IV was almost two hundred and well past its prime. Still the engine roared like beast as it lifted off the ground. For any civilian who looked up at the sky, in the few seconds that followed, they would have seen something rapidly gaining altitude, flying past the borders of Sector 33, out into the unknown.


	13. Deviation The Second

**3 Deviation The Second**

He lay still and unmoving.

"So this is the end. Oblivion awaits me."

His limp body lay awkwardly on the Galath's workbench.

He lay still in a pile of his own blood. The helio helm was thrown to the side.

He could hear Galath's footsteps disappear down some hallway far away, even his swearing was becoming fainter now. He lay still and he smiled victoriously.

He would have liked to kill Galath.

He would have liked to save the world.

But he had taken Galath's datapod. It was enough.

Someone was kneeling beside him.

"Jarred?"

It was him. The real Jarred, not Ashimar the faceless Deathless.

"It was my honor being your opponent, Jori. You did well."

 _Jori…_ The word he had heard Galath speak countless times. But it was Jarred. Jarred who now spoke his childhood name. Jarred, the only person who cared for him after his father left him.

Raidriar choked on the blood that came to his throat. For Jarred was gone. In his place was someone else. Someone pale and thin.

He coughed again and felt the invisible knife dig deeper into his lungs. His breath came in ragged gasps. It was getting harder to breathe. He was closer now, closer to the edge.

Raidriar strained to keep his eyes open. Uriel! Dead for thousands of years. Uriel, whom he believed he had lost forever.

"You've grown up." Said Uriel, caressing his face with trembling fingers.

Raidriar shuddered violently. _I cannot go. Not yet. Not while the Worker still lives!_

"You've done enough, my son." Uriel took Raidriar's hand into his own.

 _I tried._ Raidriar thought. _I tried to be a king. Didn't I….Father?_

"You were a king, Jori. And I'm proud of you. I love you, my son."

All of a sudden he was wearing his hockey gear, again. He felt the pats on his back, he heard the cheering of the crowd. He heard the announcer. His team had won. He had won. And he saw his dad, whose voice was drowned out by the deafening crowd. But he heard.

I'm proud of you, Jori.

He wanted to smile but he lacked the strength. He felt his Uriel's grip on his hand tighten.

"I'll be by your side." He heard him say. Already his consciousness was drifting.

Then， there was only darkness for Raidriar.


End file.
